One That Don't Look the Same
by hollyglas
Summary: A first attempt at what happens after S6.How would the Doc and Louisa make a go of it and try to rebuild their relationship. (Spoilers on S6). I, naturally, own nothing except and overactive imagination.
1. Chapter 1

I lay awake listening to the seagulls squawking as the sky began to grown slightly lighter. There was so much to do this week. It was the last week before the summer holiday – exams and progress reports had to be submitted, enrollment for the next term finalized and then there was the fair – Portwenn's way of greeting the summer. Just as important, James's first birthday was Friday and we were having a small get together to celebrate. Had a year really passed already? A sudden shiver went through me, a reminder of a moment this time last year when I had a similar, wakeful morning, thanks to my ever-growing bump.

_I had felt so alone and helpless. I was back in my beloved village, a village that had nurtured and supported me all my life, which was the reason I was willing overlook the sideways glances and pretended not to hear the whispers that stopped when I entered a room. I had never felt the lack of family so keenly as when I was getting ready to start my own. My mother hadn't even bothered to answer my hastily-written letter, not that I was terribly surprised. I turned my head slightly and stared at the grey cottage across the harbor. He was through, so ready to be free of this place and wash his hands of his exile into the backwaters of Cornwall. And the mistake our relationship had clearly been. He'd probably chalk it up to a dark period in his life he would use at some speech at an awards ceremony before sitting down next to her. _

_And why not? I had forced him to propose or lose me, rushed the engagement, refused to marry him and then left town without a word. I had known I was pregnant for four months before telling him, springing it on him without warning. Hell, I had made an effort to tell my mother three weeks before I finally got the courage to go home and face the music. Why had I done that?_

The last year could only be described as a rollercoaster. He came after me and we decided to make another go of it for the sake of our son. I had even agreed to go back to London to give James a real family. Out of the blue, Eleanor had decided to return to Cornwall to act the doting grandmother, although it was like everything when it came to her, fleeting. She was gone again, but not before convincing me that I couldn't be happy with Martin, and I had left him. Again. But, Martin had surprised me, declaring his love and willingness to give up his surgical career and London to stay here and be with me and James. The next four months were a whirlwind of wedding plans, threats and recriminations from Imperial, and finally a contented routine with the two most important men in my life. My marriage had been two months of bliss, three months of insecurity and dread, and then the last two months…

I glanced around the tiny room. This was supposed to be James's room and I hoped it would belong solely to him once again. I had agreed to come home to Martin after my emergency surgery, but only with the guarantee of change. Not necessarily to him, I realized, but to how we interacted with each other and how we viewed our marriage. Living in the same house meant that we were committed to being a couple, both to the village and to each other. The separate bedrooms meant that we privately acknowledged we weren't there yet. I had wanted Martin to know that he wasn't alone, that he had a family who loved and supported him. But, I still needed more from him. We would take it in small steps, as small as they had to be. It seemed like sometimes our relationship could be summarized as us inching towards each other, one gallant rush together and then rebounding backwards, often farther apart then when we began. This time felt different. We weren't going to rush our reconciliation. I wouldn't admit it out loud but I was worried that if we were to rebound away from each other once again we would find ourselves too far apart to come back together.

For my part, I finally acknowledged that his social dictionary wasn't thin – it was almost blank. His thoughtlessness was often due to cluelessness. Situations that seemed obvious to me weren't to him – no one had taken the time to show him and he never bothered to learn. I guess he never had a reason to. I was learning to express my needs and the reasons behind those needs. He would listen. Ever the scientist, once he know why I felt the way I did, he seemed to understand and then made an effort to "apply it forward". He wasn't always successful, but he was becoming more attuned to me and able to predict the triggers that upset me. When he failed, I would repeat to myself that he needed a chance ot make amends in the moment and my stalking away from him didn't help. And then there were Tuesdays.

Every Tuesday, I would collect James from day care for the evening. Sometimes I would bring him to work and let him play on the floor of my office as I finished reports and timetables. Sometimes I met up with friends for dinner at their home or at the pub. I knew Martin needed help, but we lived in a town that would say "God Bless You" three seconds before you stopped sneezing. As much as I loved them, they didn't always know the difference between playful ribbing and painful teasing. I had come to realize that a big reason Martin and the village didn't get on was that they always assumed they were doing the former and he assumed the latter, with their reactions widening the gulf between them even further. As much as the village respected him, there were just enough people who would love to give him grief.

So, he spent every Tuesday evening Skyping with Dr. Sayan. She was recommended by Ruth and she was a godsend. Although he never talked with me about what they discussed, I could see the chinks in his armor getting bigger. He had come to accept that growing up in a miserable house had resulted in a miserable adult. His father was aloof and his mother unfeeling and he always assumed it was his fault. Having met his_ lovely_ mother, I assumed she had never given him any assurance and probably encouraged him to feel that way.

In a similar vein, I had been meeting Ruth for lunch, unofficially. Although I didn't feel I needed professional help, she was a discrete and understanding sounding board. I often wondered if she had originally supported Martin and me getting married, but once we had, she seemed willing to help us succeed. Perhaps she was trying to make up for not being more involved when Martin was growing up, picking up where her sister had left off. After a few of these lunches, I would have my own revelation. I usually ran when times got tough. My philosophy was why wade through the muck there was another field somewhere else. I was realizing that although it was tough and could be painful, what was waiting on the other side was worth it.

Back to this room. Yes, I was in a similar place to where I was last year. Alone in bed, unable to rest, listening to the village wake up before my son forced me to get up. But I had one thing now – the certainty that Dr. Martin Ellingham loved me. That knowledge gave me hope and I had learned to appreciate its power.

I heard a snuffle, and a small cry. Time to get up and see to James.


	2. Chapter 2

I'm staring at my open wardrobe, at a row of crisp, white shirts order by date of dry cleaning, but my mind is a thousand miles away. I'm dreading this weekend. James's first birthday is Friday and Louisa wants to have people over to celebrate. Why? He's going to be one year old, it's not as if he be aware of why these people are here or will even remember that they came. Louisa insists that celebrating such things is part of being in a community. Community. I've been a part of one or another all my life. The population of students, the student body of Imperial, the cadre of residents, the Royal College of Surgeons. None prepared me for the community of Portwenn. I've been here over four years, and I still don't understand this assortment of intellectual misfits. And yet, I've given up everything I once held dear to attach myself to this Cornish backwater, or at least two members of it. It was one year ago that I came so close to escaping this disaster once and for all.

_Alright, Ellingham – last day of patients. Storage facility booked. Flat hired, painted and furnished. Introductions on the 3__rd__, induction on the 4__th__. Rounds begin on the 6__th__. Back to a world of quiet serenity interrupted only by intense professional productivity. Heaven. But as I turn toward the bed to reach for my tie, I see the packet resting ominously on the bedside table. Would it be enough? Should I make the cheques for more? Will she take them or be offended? She wouldn't tell me how much she wanted. She never tells me what she wants._

_ The only thing that is clear is what she doesn't want. Me. Fine. She seemed surprised that I was leaving. Did she seriously think I would stay and watch the two of them, knowing how I wasn't welcome? Watching her find someone else? Listening to him or her call her Mummy and me…Doc. No, I won't subject myself to that. There's a world of respect and professionalism waiting five hundred miles away and in three days, it's mine._

I shook my head. Who was I kidding? I had to make last attempt to be a part of their lives and to my surprised, she accepted, welcoming me to her side as she gave birth. She seemed to have been waiting for me move first, probably based on feelings of rejection brought on by parents who seemed unfamiliar with the term reliability. I thought my life was going to be perfect. London, Louisa and our son. I had underestimated how attached Louisa was to her community. She couldn't leave, at least not for me. I'm not sure how much influence her preposterous mother had on this conclusion, but there it was. Standing in front of a fake castle, declaring a fake attachment to barmy chemist, the only option I had was to cling to the very real love I felt for Louisa. She was worth more than London. James was worth more than a surgical theatre. My fate was set.

In the whirlwind of Louisa moving back in and organizing our wedding, thankfully more than three weeks this time, I suddenly found myself the head of a family and forever in the center of this batty half-civilization. And then something went wrong. I still can't put my finger on it. One day I was fine and the next day it felt as if the walls were closing in on me. The house was too small, the road too noisy, my ties too tight, my family too irritating. All I wanted was to get a bit of space to clear my head. If I could just clear my head. And then a sound that still echoes in my ears – a car breaking followed by a sickening thud. It was the final straw for Louisa as she sadly told me she needed to break. The haze that I had been looking through snapped clear. I didn't know how to fix it this time – I have been so involved in my own misery, I didn't have any inkling as to what Louisa was going through and how to repair the damage. Thankfully Ruth, and oddly enough, my mother cleared my vision even more. She needed me to be a partner in her life, not just her marriage. Another dash to save her life. For some reason, she was willing to give me yet another chance, but I had to prove to her I was willing to make the effort. She's still here, so it's a good sign.

Ruth had recommended a contact of hers in London, Dr. Mariam Saryan. I dreaded this meeting – finally having to accept that something was indeed wrong with me. I had made previous attempts to speak to therapists, especially when my haemophobia had first reared its ugly head. Most wanted to diagnose with me half a dozen, easily documented disorders. (The irony of my behavior of seeking a diagnosis to explain anxiety was no lost on me.) Dr. Saryan has convinced me that where I was previously content to live a solitary life, I was actually just accepting what I believed to be inevitable. I felt myself unworthy of being loved and had convinced myself that isolation had always been my choice. In this vein, I couldn't accept that Louisa truly cared about me. I was pushing her away in preparation for the day that she woke up and made the horrified realization that she had attached herself to a miserable bugger who had no business intruding on her world. My relationship with Edith had fed into this– I saw her leaving for Canada as her moment of recognition that I was a broken appendage that needed to be amputated to save the patient. I had been dreading the moment when Louisa had the same insight, even more so as I had so much more to lose. My Tuesday sessions were a series of deliberations, trying to make me see that she had stuck by me through all my attempts to push her away. Every action was telling me she loved me and all she asked is an occasional return of the effort. She deserved more than that. I had to make myself able to give her that assurance.

Thankfully, she had agreed to move back into the cottage, even if not directly back into our bedroom. Mrs. Tischell's exasperated summary of our rocky relationship history of the numerous break-ups between the two of us still rang in my ears. Being with her every day, behaving like a proper family was a constant reminder of how much I stood to lose it I couldn't succeed at being a better husband. Little occurrences like chatting about the events of the day while helping James eat had become the highlight of my life. I could also imagine how the tongues would wag at the pub about the uptight Doc screwing up again with the charming Miss G. (If they knew about my Tuesday sessions, it would have been worse. The great Dr. Ellingham was as screwed up as they had always claimed.) I hoped our physical separation would not last too much longer. The more time I spent with Louisa, the more I missed lying next to her. She had a habit of her left had reaching behind her in her sleep. It would often come to rest on my right hand, as if she was subconsciously checking that I was still there while reminding me of her presence. I missed that.

Lately, I had noticed Louisa being more pointed about her explanations of why she was upset with me or what I had done wrong. Often, it was illuminating to see how she interpreted my actions. Most recently, I had learned that she resented my medical advice when she felt I should be "off-duty". How often had I expressed exasperation with my patients constantly ignoring my guidance, only to learn that my wife felt the same? I would have to bring this up on Tuesday.

I could hear Louisa and James moving around across the landing. Time to stop self-analyzing and start getting breakfast on the table. I grabbed my jacket and headed down the stairs.


End file.
